Paul
Goble
Staunton, October 26 – Many
different nationalities live in St. Petersburg, Vlada Baranova and Kapitolina
Fedorova point out, “but the city is not marked by their cultural diversity”
because its residents deal with each other “exclusively in Russian.” But many of these groups form “’underground’”
communities where their national languages play the key role.
The two St. Petersburg-based
scholars, one at the Higher School of Economics and the other at the European
University, summarize their articles about their research on these issues on the
IQ portal today, research that suggests the non-Russian simultaneous remain
hidden from others and quite organized on their own (iq.hse.ru/news/211215165.html).
“The ‘façade’ of
St. Petersburg,” they write, “unlike of a number of other world metropolises
remains mon-lingual … Only in more confined areas,” where non-Russians are far
more numerous, “is it possible to see advertisements in Uzbek, Tajik, Chinese and
other languages.”
They examined the language milieu in
three St. Petersburg micro-districts: two primarily residential ones on the
outskirts and one in the center, Apraksin dvor.
“Despite the large number of migrants” in all three, “announcements and
advertising in their languages was encountered no that often.”
Baranova and Fedorova identify
several different kinds of ads and the ways in which they are linked to
language:
·
“Many
informal advertisements in the sleeping districts – paper ads or writing on
asphalt – offer sex services. Here there are two kinds: Russian language ones
in which eastern names figure … or advertisements in one of the non-Russian
languages.”
·
More
rarely, advertisements for doctors and dentists are in non-Russian languages.
·
“Uzbek
words are encountered only in announcements posted in closed area,” such as an
Uzbek café.
·
“Commercial
proposals are written exclusively in Russian.” But they often contain “specific
‘ethnic’ markers,” such as the color green or letters suggesting the Arabic
script.
In the
city’s Apraksin dvor neighborhood, they report, there is a large infrastructure
largely of the migrants’ own creation. Large
signs on the streets are in Russian, but smaller signs in back alleys or other
closed spaces are in the non-Russian languages of the migrant groups. The only prominent ads in Uzbek there are for
sex services.
Intriguingly,
the two authors say, the migrants are more inclined than Russians to employ
international words in advertising and to write them in Latin script regardless
of whether their nations use the Latin script at home.
Baranova
and Fedorova stress that “in Russian megalopolises, migrant networks ever more
often are considered ‘a second society,” one of the reasons for their
disdainful atttidue toward other languages.
But they note that indigenous Russians “are not prepared to accept the
fact of coexistence with other ethno-linguistic groups.”
As a
result, “the mono-linguistic façade of the Russian metropolis continues to
conceal the everyday linguistic and cultural diversity which like everything
secret and hidden seems beyond the understanding of and frightening for its
residents,” the two scholars say their research shows.
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